I went outside at dusk, when you have to squint to see. The spring air was breezy and my poor husband sneezed away in the corner, digging in the hard pan, trying to kill the sprinkler monster that has taken over our front lawn.
I ignored his allergic noises and smelled the jasmine in the air, and gazed lovingly at my Iceland Poppies that have held on to their majesty despite (or perhaps, because of) constant picks from a chubby little boy hand.
I waxed poetic while looking at my Petunias and I was just starting to dream big dreams about the Salvia when I was rudely interrupted by a mosquito on my arm. I brushed it away mid bite and returned to the indoors where everything is safe and windless and bug free (generally).
When you think you’re safe, enclosed by four walls and an air conditioning unit, you miss out on the breeze in your hair and flowers that exude bloom and intoxicating scent. It is when you go outside and live and breathe and battle mosquitoes that you know you are somewhere real.
I’m in a contemplative mood tonight, and I blame Thomas Merton, who writes over my head and makes me cry. I’m thinking about how much of my life I spend running from reality because it bites me and sucks my blood. I’m wondering if I should be running?
Mankind cannot bear too much reality” –T.S. Eliot
And in the Springtime, reality calls us all. It is the season of new life, and explosive blooms and renewal, and green grass. And we all want to be alive, but sometimes not enough to lose some blood.
“The heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech;
night after night they display knowledge.
There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard.”
But what are we hiding in our houses from exactly? Not just mosquitoes perhaps. Perhaps we are hiding from the ultimate reality that is found when we recognize that we are weak, mosquito ridden messes, and He loves us despite ourselves.